Breathless

Flash Fictionby Penelope Lake

I can't breathe. There is no obstruction, nothing I can feel, like a crumb, or a drop of saliva. Only this sudden, weightless force locking down my throat.

Help me. It's unbearable. I'll give anything to make it open.
There should be oxygen flowing through but it won't move. It takes four minutes. Damage probably starts in two.
If it doesn't open I will die. The air is there, I can't understand why the air won't move, just draw it up and out. Harder.

I try to take a deep breath, any breath, but relief will not come. Each attempt makes more panic rise but he keeps pounding into me. He doesn't recognize that the fingers clawing his back are no longer
pleasure but desperate terror.

My limbs go liquid and my legs fall from his back, I try to roll out from under him,
but he thinks it's one of our games. He smiles but he won't let go.

The sweat on his upper lip is the last thing I see. He's panting. The involuntary spasms are slowing, the vicious discomfort receding with my breath. I'm floating.